» 1534 
)13 L.5 
857 
opy ^ 



No. CXXX. 



I HE IVIINOR DRAMA. 



LIVE ¥OMAI n THE MINES 



PIKECOUNTY AHEAD! 



g.Iotal|Ugina;(ao^tts. 



BY "OLD BLOCK. 



WITH CAST OP CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, 
RELATIVE POSITIONS, &c., &c. 



..'*^- 



NEW YORK: 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 

122 Nassau Street, (Up Stairs.) 
PRICE,] []2i CENTS. 



Monograph, 



FHIiiMIII'S ST\.\DAIID 1)11 \]l.f. 



1'kice 12^ Cents kacii. — Bound 


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../ t«Trr ] t 



THE MINOR DRAMA. 

No. CXXX. 

^ — ® ^ ' ■ ■ '■■ ■ 

A 

LIVE ¥OMAI II TIE MIIES; 

OR, 

PIKE COUNTY AHEAD! 



g, ^atni ilsg tvc %b3a gucts. 



^^^J- 



BY " OLD BLOCK.' 



■" 'J 

TO WHICH AKE ADDED 

A description of the Costume — Cast of the Characters— Entrances and Exits- 
Relative Positions' of the Performers on the Stage, and the whole of the 

Stage Business. 



NEW YORK: 
SAMUEL FEENOH, 

122 Nassau Street, (Up Stairs.) 



?^ 



53A 



NOTE. 






The plot of this play is founded on fact. The history of John and 
Mary Wilson is that of hundreds who have come to Califoniia— and 
their misfortunes and ultimate success is a type of what many others 
have experienced within the author's knowledge. 

Pike County Jess is only a type of an openrgenerous, off-hand un- 
educated, south and western man-copied from a character I juLt in 
cro.ssing the Plains in '49. 

High Betty Martin is a specimen of a back-woods, western Ama- 
zonian, such as I have .seen, not only in the West, but upon the Plains- 
who IS indomitably persevering, and brave under difficulties, but 
withal with woman's feelings when diniculty is over. 

Old Swamp, the Judge, Stokes, Ned, and Joe were my companions 
m the mines ; and their disposition to make the best of bad circum'- 
staiK-es, is a truthful illustraUon of my messmates. The scene of the 
petticoat IS true in the main, only that the author was the speaker on 
the occasion. Jones is a veritable charact/.r in name, adventures and 
vocation, lie is at this moment a citizen of San Francisco, and by 
his own permission I introduco him. His turkey dinner is copied 
mainly from his own letter t« the author. 

The other characters are introduced to carry on the plot, bat are 
such as were daily seen in 1860. as weU as at the present day. 

THE AUTHOB. 



F.Dl«r«d kceordint lo Ael of ('an(t«>. to Ihc jc«r hik ThwuMiud Klght Iluni1r»«l •ixl KlOr Rrrrn, 
bT A I>i:l*<(o. Ill the Clrrk« oOloc of Ibc DiMrlot Court of ibr I nllcd Sulc for ih« .Souibcrn 
hUliicI of .No York. 



GHARACTEKS, 



Pike Couhtt Jess, 

The Poet and Philanthropist. 
JoHJf WiiiSOJr. 

Sluice, the Pliicked Pigeon. 

Judge. 

Stokes. 

Joe. 



Ned. 

Old Swamp, the Sermonizer. 

Doctor. 

Jones, the Printer Man, 

Express Eider, 

Watchman. 

Postmaster. 

Chinaman. 

Miners. 



Mary Wilson, the Idve Woman. High Betty Martin. 



® s t u m e . 



-Modern and Mining. 



STAGE DIRECTIONS. 



L. means First Entrance Left. R. First Entrance Right. S. E. L, 
Second Entrance, Left. S. E. R. Second Entrance, Right. U. E. L. 
Upper Entrance, Left. U. E. R. Upper Entrance, Right. C. Centre, 
L. C. Left Centre. R. C. Right of Centre. T. E. L. Third Entrance 
Left. T. E. R. Third Entrance, Right. C. D. Centre Door. D. R. 
Door Right. D. L. Door Left. U. D. L. Upper Door, Left. U. D. R. 
Upper Door, Right. 

*^* The reader is supposed to be on the Stage, facing the Audience. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year One Thousand Eight Hundred and Plfty Seven, 
by A. Delawo, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern 
District of New York. 



ALIVE WOMA-X l.\ THE MINES. 



ACT I. 

SCENE l.—J Street in Sacramento. Time— about August, 1860. 

J-Jnter Jous, a., and Mary, l. 

John. [Kinbracing her.] Ah! Mary! Mary! lit it thus wo meet 
agaiu I No hoj>e — no eiicouragoraetit 1 

Mary. O, Joint, I Hin tireil aliuoKt to death. I have l>con walking; 
all day, inquiring; for a ^ituatil>ll at every r»«si)c<"taMe hou.s»», with. mi 
sui'cess. I ottered to do aiiytiiing : to wash — scrub — in Khorl, to do 
the most menial service ; but every vacancy wan tilled. 

John. How were you received 1 

Mary. Generally with kindness. Some seemed to pity me, and en- 
couruiio me with ho|>e ; some kindly advised me to (ro to the Mined, 
and Hft up a lM>ardiiii!-h<>u><e, while others lt>oked coldly on me as 
a suspicions thini», ami rudely answered to go somewhere else, they 
did not want my services, while I occasionally n>et one who crushe<l 
my heart by Imse insinuations, which, while it brought the blu^ll ui" 
shame t<> my cheek, e.\cite<l my indignation, that |M>verty,and mi-<fur- 
tuno should be n mark fur rudoueas, and that wealth ahuuld bo ouU- 
tIo<I to such license. 

John. <> that I ha<I been with you then ! I too have been nnsuc- 
cewtful. I oflere*! to |K>rform any service, no mailer how low, if it 
was honest- I felt willing to engage in any employment suIuhI t«> my 
capacities, but I found every piaco i>ccupied, from the lM>ot-black to 
the merchant's clerk; and now, without a dime to buy a crust of 
bread, or provide a simple hxlging for her I love belter than my own 
life, I feel as if all lio|)« had tied, and that here in the land of gold, 
and amidst the splendor of wealth, we are indewl Ix'ggars. 

Mary. It Is hanl, John, but I feci not for myself. When I see your 
,j„ji...,„ I...... your cheek jiale with exertion, M-arcely recovere<l from 

the i elV«Kt of Panama fever, yet struggling manfully to 

pn>\ Miig for our subsistence, I forget my own weakness, my 

own hclpienstiess, and gather fresh courage, and hope against hope. 
Olid feel from my very soul that we must, we will yet succcctl. 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 6 

John. 0, Mary, Mary, why would you leave the comforts of your 
father's house to share my misery 1 When our hopes were blasted by 
the dubious turns of mercantile speculations ; when it became necessary 
for me to try my fortune again in the world, why should you cling to 
me in the darkest hour, share the perils of the sea, risk the sickness 
of the tropics, and now be reduced to beggary by my misfortunes 1 
0, Mary, Mary, why did you not let me suffer and die alone 1 

Mary. You little know the strength of woman's love. Where her 
heart is, there is her heaven on earth. I will never leave you till 
death throws its dark mantle round me; " wither thou goest I will 
go, thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God." [ With fervor. 

John. [Clasping her in his arms passionately.] You are my guar- 
dian spirit — my guiding star. As we have lived together,- so will we 
die. Faint and weary as I am, your words have given me new cour- 
age, and with the morning sun we will make one more effort. Surely 
our countrymen will not let us starve ! 

Mary. No ; a crust will not be refused to honest poverty, and I feel 
at this moment as if our darkest days had coine, and a light must 
soon glimmer on us. Talk not of death, John, for, till the breath is 
out of the body, nobody in California dies. Courage then for another 
effort — aye, another and another, if need be — we will succeed. 

John. I never dreamed that you had such resolution. 

Mary. And I never knew that I had it till necessity prompted it. 
I am only like thousands of others who have come to California ; who 
knew not their own strength till occasion developed it. 

John. And now for a shelter to pass the night in. If we can only 
find an empty shed — a vacant tent • [Crosses, l. 

Mary. And if noD, the blue vault of heaven beneath the spreading 
canopy of some friendly oak, with the twinkling stars for lamps will 
suffice. 

John. 0, Mary ! has it come to this 1 

Mary. Hush! my husband. [TJiey retire up the stage a9 if in 
search of a lodging-place. 

Enter Cash and Dice, i,. 

Cash. How much did you pluck that goose 1 

Dice. A cool five thousand. 

Cash. Five thousand ! you are in capital luck. How did you come 
it over the greenhorn so nicely 1 

Dice. Why, the moment he came in I had my eye on him. I saw 
he was a green 'un, just from the Mines, nixl therefore proper game. 
T carelessly began talking with him, and found out that lie was on his 
way home ; told me a long yarn about his father and mother ; old 
man was crippled, and tlie old woman supported the family by wash- 
ing, and all that nonsense ; and how he should surprise them when lie 
got home, and that they should'nt work any more, and all that sort of 
thing ; let out that he had dug a jiile by hard labor, and had the 
money in his belt. Well, of course I rejoiced with him, commended 
hjm as a dutiful son, and to show him mv ajjpreciation of so much 
virtue, I insisted on his drinking with me. 



6 A Liri WOMAN IN THS XIXBS. 

Cash. Ha ! Iia ! ha ! Ton*re a perfc-t philauthrupist — well: 
iJice. At first he ralhor backed water, but I would take no denial, 
and 1 tiiially succee^led in ijeiliii^ the first dose down him. A little 
while after, not to be mean, he offered to treat me. 
Cash. Of course you was dry. 

Dice. Dry as a contribution box. I winked at Tim, so he made 
Sluice Forks' smash good and strong, and somehow forgot to put any 
liquor in mine. 

Cash. Wliat monstrous partiality ! 

Dice. Directly he began to I'eel the aecond dose, and grew friendly 
and coiifldential. Well, I ollered to show him around among the girls, 
in the eveninii, with all the sights in town, and at the same time cau- 
tioned him against tailing into bad hands, for he might be swindled 
or robbed by strangers. 

Cash. Good latherlv adviser — ha! ha! lia! 

Dice. Yes, and he grew grateful fast, for he insisted on my drinking 
with him. 

Cash. Ah ! that hiirt your feelings. 
Dice. I told him I seldom drank anything — 
Cash. Only when you could get it, I s'pose 1 

Dice. As he woul<i take no denial I — hem ! — reluctantly consented, 
and nodded to Tim, who flavored liis glass with morphine, and mine, 
particularly, with cold water. 

Cash. You're a practical illustration of a California temperance so- 
ciety. 

Dice. It was'nt long before he was the richest man in California, 

and a d il sight the smartest. Of course ho was, .so I invited him 

up to tiie (able to see the boys play. He asked mo if I ever playe<l. 
I told him I seldom staked anything, but what I did I was sure to 
win, so I threw a dollar on the red. 
Cash. And won, of course. 

Dice. Of course. And then I projuised that he should try it. Uo 
demurred some, but 1 told him a dollar was nothing-^if ho lost 1 
would share the los.s— so he finally let a dollar slip on the red. 
Cash. And won, of course. 

Dice. To be sure ; our Jake knows what he's about. Sluice Box 
was absolutely surpri.sed when two dollars were jiusbed back to him. 
He then doubled his stakes, and went on winning till he thought ho 
had Fortune by the wings, when suddenly his luck changed, and he 
began to lose, and became excited. It was my treat now, and that set- 
tled the matter, for he swore he would not leave the table till he had 
won the money back. So he staked his pile, and we fleeced him out 
of every dime, and a happier man than Sluice Box is at this moment 
does not exist. 

Cash. How, at being rob\)ed ? 

Dice. Not that exactly; but, by the time his money was pone, he 
was so beastly drunk that Tim kicke<i him out of the round lent into 
the gutter, where he now lays fast asleep, getting ready for another 
trip to the Minos, instead oi" helping his mother wash at home, and 
plastering up his father's sore shins. 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 7 

Cash. Ha ! ha ! ha ! the fools are not all dead. We'll go it while 
we're young. [Sings.] " 0, Calif orny, the land for me." 

Dice. Stay ! look there ; who are they % [Pointing to John and 
Mary in the hack ground. 

Cash. A devilish fine woman ! I say, Dice, there's game ; I'm in. 

Bice. Wonder who that feller is with her 1 

Cash. 0, some fool of a husband, brother or lover. What's the 
difference 1 it's game, and we'll come down on the bank and take our 
chances. 

Dice. Good ; I go halves. [John and Mart advance, l. 

Cash. Good evening. You are strangers 1 [Inquiringly. 

John. But recently arrived, sir. 

Dice. Eh ! looking for lodgings, perhaps 1 

John. Rather in search of employment. Lodgings, however, are 
desirable at this hour. 

Cash. What business do you wish to engage in 1 

John. Anj that is honorable. The -truth is, my means are rather 
limited at present, and although I was bred a merchant, I am not 
above earning an honest living in any profitable way. 

Dice. And the lady 1 

John. Is my wife, sir. 

Cash. Eh ! oh ! ah ! I say, Mr. Dice, you want a clerk, and my 
family will afford a fine asylum for the lady. 

Dice. Exactly. I think you are just the man I want ; good salary, 
no reference needed. 

Mary. You are very kind, gentlemen. Certainly this is unexpected. 

Cash. Tut ! nothing for California ; and — hark ye — there is some- 
thing in a pretty face and bright eye that 

Mary. Sir ! [ Wtth reserve. 

Cash. 0, nothing, nothing — we make bargains in a hurry in Sacra- 
mento. 

Dice. Well, sir — will you go with me 1 My business is urgent — 
I've no time to waste. 

John. Please give me your address ; I will call in the morning. 

Dice. Morning 1 No, my business is in the evening. Go with me 
now. Mr. Cash, take tlae lady to your family — to your family, Mr. 
Cash; I will conduct the gentlemen to my office. Come, sir, [to John,] 
my office is in the Round Tent 

Cash. Madam, I will conduct you. 

John. [Aside to Mary.} Mary, I don't half like these men ; there 
is something strange in their manner. 

Mary. And I don't like it at all, I will not go without you. 

Cash. Come with me. Madam — I have no time to spare. 

[Tahes her rudely by the arm. 

Mary. Let me go, sir ! I shall not go without my husband. 

Dice. He's engaged- with me. Come, sir, this ^s•aJ'■ ! 

[Endeavors to pull him along. 

Cash. No ceremony in California. I shall introduce j'ou to my 
family, and [aside to her,] if a thousand dollars will make you happy, 
I'm your man, my dear. 



8 A LIVE WOMAN IV THE XINES. 

Mary. [Struggles as he attempts to pull her aJong.] Back, sir — 
you are a villaib. 

John. [Struggles to protect Mabt.J Stand off, sir ! Villain, unhand 
my wife. 

Bice. Go it. Cash — now's your time. Be quiet, fool, [to John,] it's 
a cool thousand ; you'll never make money faster nor easier. 

[Mary screams as Cash endeavors to force her off ; Johx struggles to 
reach her, but is overthrown by Dice, who suddenly draws a pistol, 
and presents at him. 

Enter Pike, running, l. u. e. 

Pike. Hillo, mister ! whar ye gwine too with that ar' live woman ? 
Open yer traps, I say, and let 'er go ! no jumping another man's claim 
in these diggins. You won't 1 

[Knocks Cash doxon and releases Mary. 

Pike. What a gang on em ! I say, you varmint, pick up yer tools, 
and vamos these diggins. Don't undertake to jump a claim that's al- 
ready prospected. [Collars Dice and forces him off — Cash gets vp 
and sneaks off.} Thar, strangers, is a specimen of Pike county justice, 
and ef I catch you in these diggins again, I'll grease yer ears and 
swaller you whole. [To them as Cash goes off, l. 

John, (h.) My good fellow, we are under infinite obligations to you. 

Mary, (c.) Those villians tried %o entrap us. 

Pike. Tried to traj) you, did they 1 Set their trap wrong there, for 
the spring caught their own lingers, anyhow. Who are ye 1 Whar 
d'ye come from 1 Whar ar ye gwine to 1 What ye doin here, stran- 
gers 1 

Mary. We have just come to California ; my husband was sick on 
the Isthmus ; we lost all our money ; we have both been trying to get 
work, but without success. AVe do not know what to do, or where to 
go, and were wandering up and down in search of a shelter when 
those villians assailed us, and you came to our rescue. 

Pike. I hope 1 may never strike a lead ef you ar'nt the prettiest 
speciment of a live woman I've seen in Californy. Don'l aet mad ; 
I'm only a rough miner, but my mother was a woman, my sister is a 
woman, Caroline Betsey is a woman, and the last letter she got writ 
she said she was comin to Californy on her own hook. Is that chap 
your husband 1 

Mary. Yes. 

Pike. Wal, old feller, I kind o' have a sneakin for you, jist for your 
gall's sake. Thar's my fist on it ; what may I call your name, 
stranger "? 

John. John Wilson, my good fellow. 

Pike. Wal, John Wilson, you're strapped, are youl 

Jolm. It is too true ; my cash account is rather easily balanced, 
just now. 

Pike. Don't know whar to roost, eh 1 

John. Indeed I do not. 

Pike. Well, I live up in the mountaina, where you have to dodge to 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. W 

keep out of the way of sunrise ; so jist go with me to Stringtown, 
and set up a boarding-house, or a store, with your gall thar — ^you'd 
make money. 

John. I really appreciate your kindness, hut I have neither the 
means to get there, nor money to begin with when I am there. 

Pike. Pshaw ! I've got the dust. Say you'll go, and I'll plank 
down all you want till you can pay. Your gall will keep you honest. 
I drive three mules and a jackass ; come down for supplies for the 
boys ; take the back track to-morrow. Gall, what's yer name 1 

Mary. Mary Wilson, sir. Ha ! ha ! something of an original. 

[To John. 

Pike. Wal, Mary Wilson, my gall's naine is Carolina Betsey, known 
at home as High Betty Martin. What do you say — will you go to 
Stringtown and prospect? shan't cost you a dime; Old Swamp is thar, 
and he'll be a father to you, so will I, and so will all the boys. 

Mary. John ! 

John. Mary! 

Mary. Yes, my friend, we will go with you, and thank heaven for 
the rough diamond it has thrown in our path. 

Pike. AVhoora ! for a live woman in the mines. What'll the boys 
say 1 they'll peel out o' their skins for joy. A live female woman in 
the mines ! wake snakes and dead niggers ! turnpikes and railroads 
come next and steam engines ! whoora for Pike county ! wheat bread 

and chicken flxins now — hoe cakes and slapjacks be d d — whoora ! 

I say. Come to my tent under the oak tree in J street, and turn in. 
By day-light I'll start three mules and a jackass, a greenhorn and a 
live woman for Stringtown. Injins and grizzlies clar the track, or a 
young airthquake will swaller you. Don't be skeered, gal — don't get 
mad, John ; I mean it all right, but it all comes out tail eend fore- 
must. A live woman in the mines ! fol lol de lol — lol lol de ml. 

[Exeunt, ii. 

SCENE II. — Sacramento, in front of the Round Tent, J Str^eL 
Time — morning. Sluice discovered lying asleep in the gviter. 

Enter Watchman, l. 
Watch. These eternal broils among rowdies, these infernal cases of 
drunk slightually, and drunk particularly, with the pleasant pastime 
of dirking, shooting, grabbing, and stealing are enough to try the pa- 
tience of any Christian watchman this side of Hangtown. I. would 
resign if it was'nt for the chances, now and then, of plucking a part- 
ridge, in the way of hush money. That pays sHghtually ; better, too, 
than city scrip or corporation notes. It does'nt do to be too hard on 
a man who has plenty of money. No, no, he would'nt look well in 
the station-house ; and then I may as well take a good fee for letting 
them off, as to let the lawyers and judges get it all for letting them 
ofi" under color of law — besides it saves time. Poor devils who have 
no money, and can't pay, why, they're of no use to anybody, and 
in the station-house they're removed from temptation, and the 
county settles their bills. Think I won't resign yet awhile. [Discovers 
Sluice.] Ah ! here's a subject of contemplation. [ Watches him. 



10 A LIVE WOMAN IX THE MINES. 

Sluice. [Starting from sleep.] I go it on the red — down— yes I'm 
down — shove it over lierc, rake her uj), old fel — Dice, one brandy 
smash — two jarvies and a cocktail, plenty of t^ugar, boy. [Rubs his 
eyes.] Ell ! where am I 1 0, I thought this was Sacramento. What a 
dream I had. Come boys, it's day-light, time to no to work; Bill, I'll 
tend the rocker to-day — you pick and I'll wash. [Geiti7ig awake.] 
Why, this aint the Mines. Where have I got to ? I thought I was on 
my claim. [Looks about.] AVhy, this is Sacramento. I'm in Sacra- 
mento or Sacramento is in me, I don't exactly know whicli. 

Watch. Should'nt be surprised if it was a leetle of both, my young 
covey. Oblivious, slightually. [Aside. 

Sluice. [Gets up.] Is this me — or somebody else 1 I had a hat; 
there's none on my head. [Feeling fc/r it.] My coat had a tail to it ; 
there's none on this. I had a pair of boots on ; somebody's leg has 
only one on. Somebody has made a devil of a mistake, somehow. I 
don't remember going to bed ; I don't remember any bed going to 
me. I — I — I — [feels around him.] Where's my money 1 where's my 
—my dust — my — my — five — thousand — dollars that I had last night 1 

[Much alarmed. 
Watch. [Aside.] Five thousand dollars ! Wonder if the gentleman 
has it about him now. If he has'nt I'll take the loafer to the station- 
house. 

Sluice. [IncHarm.] It's gone — it's gone — taint hei'e! My money's 
gone — I've been robbed ! [Frantically.] My dust is gone ! [Recollect- 
ing.] 0, I know — I remember — I was drunk — I played — I — I — 0, 
mother! mother! what have I done "? 0, father! Murder! murder! 
[shouts] help ! help ! thieves ! robbers ! 

Watch. Hello ! what's all this fass about, youngster 1 Be quiet, 
will you 1 

Sluice. I've been robbed ! I've lost my money ! every dime gone ! 
Waich. Why then, you are a very poor devil. 

Sluice. 1 had started for home ; I had made ray pile ; I only got 
into town yesterday ; I went into the round tent ; they took me in. 
Watch. You was a stranger, I suppose. 

Sluice. They got me drunk — made me play. The gamblers have 
got it all — I can't go home. 0, mother! mother! — 0, father! what 
will you do now 1 I can never look you in the face again. I want to 
die— ^I aint fit to live ! [Bursts into tears. 

Waich. Look here, my lark, I've seen hundreds in the same fix. 
You are just the goose for the gamblers to pluck ; they're always on 
the watch for greeidiorns from the Mines, and have the little jokers 
always ready. If you had'ut went into the gambling house you 
would'nt have been tempted ; if you had'nt drank you would not 
have been drunk ; if you had not got drunk you would not have 
played ; if you had not played you would not have lost your money. 
Do you unclerstand'? 

Sluice. [Agonized.] Take me to a tree and hang me forty feet high ; 
I aint fit to live — I want to die. 

Watch. No ; I don't think you are worth hangins:, so I'll arrest you, 
and take you to the station-house. A few days in the prison brig or 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 11 

the chain gang for being uproarous may bring you to your senses. 

I'll do what I can legally to comfort you. 

Enter Betset, l., in meii's boots, with a large ox whip in her hand. 

Betsey. Mister, whar's the post-office 1 

Watch. Corner K and Third streets. 

Betsey. Anan ! 

Watch. Corner K and Third streets, madam. 

Betsey. How far away's that from Sacramento 1 

Watch. Why, that's Sacramento, madam. 

Betsey. You don't go for to say them places are in Sacramento. 
Its the post-office I want. Got sich a thing here 1 a place whar letters 
is got out of. 

• Watch. I believe here's another case of drunk. Where do you hail 
from, madam 1 

Betsey. I don't neither hail, rain, or snow, mister. I want to find 
the post-office, I do, for I expect thar's a letter from Jess. 

Watch. Well, you must have dropped down from somewhere. The 
post-office is on the corner of K and Third streets. 

Betsey. Hav'nt you got a guide book 1 I had one coming across 
the Plains, but I threw it away at Hangtown. It was only a Mormon 
guide, pi'inted at Salt Lake City, and did'nt go only to Hangtown. 
Folks said the trail was plain from thar to Sac City. 

Watch. Ha ! ha ! you don't need a guide book to go through our 
streets. Just go through Second street to K, then turn up K to Third, 
and there is the post office on .the left.* 

Betsey. [Addressing Sluice.] Young man, you look as if you'd jist 
crossed the Plains, and had larnt something. Won't you be my guide 
to the post-office % 

Sluice. Hum ! Yes, I crossed the Plains in '49, but I never learned 
anything thing till last night, in Sacramento. I know more now than 
I wish I did. [(groans. 

Betsey. Well, show me the way; I'm a stranger in town. 

Sluice. They're bound to take you in, then. But I'll show you the 
way to the yjost-office-flrst, and die afterwards. 

Watch. Stay, young man, you're my prisoner. ^ ~ 

Sluice. Your prisoner — what for 1 

Betsey. What's he done, mistei- 1 

Watch. He got drunk last night, and slept in the street ; but the 
worst is, he lost all his monej'', and that is crime enough to commit 
any man. Did'nt play his cards well. 

Betsey. Ar that a fact 1 Was yer fool enough to gamble 1 

Sluice. Alas ! it is too true. I had made a pile, started for home, 
got into bad company, and like a fool, indeed, lost it all and can't go 
home. I want to die — I aint fit to live. 

Betsey. Young man, you ar a fool — you was a fool to gamble, but 
you ar a bigger fool to cry when the egg is broke. When you was 
on the Plains, what did you do when your gun missed fire at a buffalo 
—sit down and crv over itl 



* The po-st-office was there in 1850. 



12 A LIVJi WOMAN I.\ THE 1IUVE8. 

Sluice. No, I picked the priming and tried it again. Any man 
would do that. 

Betaey. Did yer cry because yev lost the buffalo 1 

Sluice. No, I was ready for llie next and blazed away. 

Betsey. Iliijlit ! so don't be a fool, but once in Californy. Pick 
your priinint,', put on another cap, go to the Mines, and blaze away 
for another pile. You're only in a slough — dig out and keep out. 

Watcli. sire's a true California woman, gi-it to the back bone. 

Sluice. She gives my heart ease. Perhaps I can make my pile 
again ; there's hope, anyhow, and I'll try. 

Betsey. Mr. Constable, don't be hard" on the man. What may I 
call your name, mister 1 

Sluice. It used to be Bill Sluice when I was at liome — taint much 
of anything now. 

Betsey. Well Mr. Constable, don't come it too savage on a broken 
Sluice. Let me have him ; Uncle Jo is sick in ray wagon, and I'm 
tired driving. He don't play cards any more if my eye is on him. 
Let him go, I'll take care of him. 

Watch,. Ha! ha! ha! Ah! madam, there's no resisting your in- 
sinuating manners. I never could resist the glance of the fair sex. 
Go, young njan, and beware of round tents and gambling gentlemen. 
Can't make anything out of him, anyhow. [Aside, and exit, H. 

Betsey. Well, Sluice, will you go witli me 1 

Sluice. Yes, I'll go anywhere — to the devil, if you will, so that I 
can hide from myself. 

Betsey. Well, take my whip, and Show me the way to the post- 
office. Up Second street, down Third street, through B street, across 
Q street. I wish 1 had a spollin book — I disremember all the letters. 

Sluice. [Leading.] This is the way to the round tent — eh ! I mean 
to the post-ollice. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.— K Street, corner Third. 
Enter Sluice and Betsey. 

Sluice. There's the post-oflSce. 

Betsey. Wharl 

Sluice. There ! don't you see the sign 1 

Betsey. Wliat, that little painted board with black letters 1 

Sluice. Yes, that's tiie sign. 

Betsey. Jluniijh ! a migJMy little sign for sich a big house. Taint 
a quarter as big as the sign on the starn of a Missouri steamboat, uor 
half so pretty. What does it spell 1 

Sluice. Post-office. 

Betsey. Whar's the figger-head ? 

Sluice. I don't think they have one any more than I have ; if they 
have they've served it as the gamblers did me — took it in. 

Betsey. Wal, rap at the door. [He raps gently two or three times, 
arid no response.] Lord ! Sluice, sich raps would'nt wake a snake under 
a sage bush. Give me the gad and stand from under. [Haps furiously.] 
Hello ! the post-office. 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 33 

Postmaster. [Puts Ms head out of the window — his night cap on.] 
Who's there, making all that noise 1 

Betsey. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I thought I'd raise a figure-head. 

Postmaster. AVhat do you want at this time in the morning 1 

Betsey. Are j'ou the post-office, mister'? 

Postmaster. I am the postmaster, madam. What do you want 1 

Betsey.- 1 want my letter — and be quick about it — I'm in a hurry. 

Postmaster. Go to the devil. 

Betsey. I shan't do no sich thing. Give me my letter, and keep 
your sauce for them as wants it. I don't. 

Postmaster. Office opens at eight o'clock — come then. [Shuts the 
window. 

Betsey. Wal, ef that don't beat a black wolf for impudence ! the 
varmint shows his teeth in your very face. Eight o'clock ! humph ! 
by that time we'd be more'n eight miles out of town. Now, my letter 
I will have ; so thar ! I'll have that figger-head out agin, or know 
the reason why. [Raps furiously.^ Come out o' yer hole, you old 
badger, or I'll pen you up so you can't get out. 

Postmaster. [Opening the window.] Did'nt I tell you to come at 
eight o'clock! 

Betsey. And did'nt I tell you to get my letter nov/ 1 You don't 
sleep another wink till you give me my letter. 

Postmaster. How do you know you have one 1 [Tartly. 

Betsey. Wal, I don't, but I ought to have one. Look and see. 

Postmaster. Where on earth do you come from 1 

Betsey. Did'nt I come all the way from Pike county, across the 
Plains. Did'nt uncle Joe get sick on the Desert, and did'nt I drive the 
team in 1 Did'nt I stand guard agin the Indians 1 Did'nt I — Do you 
see this pretty plaything 1 [Suddenly draws a pistol and presents it.] 
Shall I take a lock of yer hair oft" your figure-head, like I did the 
scalp lock from a digger on the Humboldt 1 Say, will you give me 
jny letter — yes or no 1 

Postmaster. I'll do anything to get rid of you. What's your name 1 

Betsey. Caroline Elizabeth Martin, commonly know as High Betty 
Martin, in the Settlements. You'll see it on the letter if you can read 
hand write. Will you look "? 

Postmaster. Yes, yes — I'll look. [Disappears. 

Betsey. Thar, Sluice, do you see that 1 Ef you will do a thing you 
will if you only will. You see that some things can be done as well 
as others, and there's no use to cry for being a fool onset in a while. 

Sluice. You have taught me a lesson I shan't forget. I'll go to the 
Mines and be a man again. 

Postmaster. [Opens the window and hands out a letter.] Here, 
Bedlam. [Retires. 

Betsey. I know'd it ! I know'd it ! Jess is true as a percussion — a 
snap and a boo ! bang ! Thar, Sluice, read it to me. I don't know 
much about dictionary larnin ; we hoed corn and pulled fiax, in the 
Settlements— we did. t 

Sluice. [Opens the letter and reads.] "Dear Carolina Betsey : — I 
take my pick in hand — I mean my pen — and hope you ar enjoying 



14 A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 

the same blessing. My stake is stuck at Stringtown, on Feather 
River. Beef is lour bits a pound, and scace at that. Hard bread 
and hard work is plenty sometimes, but ditlicult to get. I drive tluee 
mules and a jackass, and slapjacks and molasses is our common 
doins; but corndodgers and hoe cake and possom fat can't be got no 
how. Take the trail to Stringtown, and don't stop at Humbug, for 
the diggers is poor thar. 

" My pen is poor, my ink is pale. 
One of my mules has lost his tail. — Bit of by a grizzly. 
"Respectfully yours, 

Jessy Jenkins, 

Known here as Pike County Jess." 

Betsey. Wal, I declar ! Jess always was a scholard — he licked the 

schoolmaster onc'st — and then he writes" so sentimental like, so poet- 

etic — Stringtown, Feather River — three mules and a jackass — thar's 

whar I'm gwine. Come along, Sluice. Whoa haw ! Gee up, Berry ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Stringtown Hill. — Wild and romantic high Mountains 
around, and in the distance, icith deep ravines. A tent is discov- 
ered, closed. — Pike is seen lying outside, in his blankets. 

Pike. [Rousing np from sleep.] Cock-a-doodle-doo-oo-oo ! [crow- 
ing.] The lizards are crawlin out, and it's time for me to crawl out 
too. The gal and her man seem to sleep — I'll let 'em snooze till I get 
my mules up. 

Enter Mary, from the tent. 

Eh, what ! rolled out so airly "? Did you stancl guard all night, 
gall 

Mary. Good morning, Pike. No, I .slept soundly ; the ground 
seemed as soft as a bed of down, and oh ! such sweet dreams ! 

Pike. All in use, all in use, gal — only get used to it. Feather beds 
are only a vexation — in fact, they're only modern inventions to make 
people lazy — and I'll marry no gal who sleeps on one ; she'd want 
me to git up and get breakfast for her. Eh ! here's another prairie 
dog crawling out of his hole — 

Enter John. 
I'll warrant the red ants drove him from his nest. 

John, (r.) No, I never slept belter, and I begin to like a mountain 
life. I turned out to help you pack the mules. 

Pike, (c.) No, no, you tried that yesterday, and what work you 
made of it. Pack turned, your gal rolled down hill, mule rolled after 
her ; pots, pans, and crockery smashed up, and if you had'nt moved 
your boots, pretty freely you'd have been smashed too. 

Mary, (l.) For heaven's sake, John, don't pack my mule again, if 
you have any regard for me. I think something of my own bones 
yet. 

Pike. The fact ar thar's about as much riggin about a mule to se- 
cure a cargo as there is about a clipper. You don't know how to 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. . 15 

trim your load, and ef you don't trim right, and tighten riglit, your 
cargo will be turning somersets, as your gal did yesterday, worse nor 
a circus rider. No greenhorn knows the quirks and flumadiddlcs of 
an aparaho. 

John. Ha ! ha ! I hope you don't consider me a greenhorn by this 
time. 

Mary, /do, John, of the greenest kind. 
* Pike. Thar ! the gal gin my sentiments exactly. All you are fit 
for is to hippah mula. Whar did your wife go to comin over Bid- 
well ridge 1 humph ! took lodgings in a clump of mansinieto bushes. 
You followed like a ten-pin ball, and Short-Tail came within an 
ace of making a ten-strike after you ; and the rattling of frying-pans 
and coffee-pots was worse than the gongs of a Chinese theatre. 

Mary. It was a Providential escape, however. 

Pike. I don't think Providence had anything to do with it. It was 
all owing to John's miserable packin. Sliort-Tail is a varmint that 
never tempts Providence, nohow ; I've driv him a year, and never 
knew the artimal to stampede, lay down, or dodge in the bushes before, 
and I think it was all because a greenhorn packed him, and a live 
woman rid him. 

John. It is possible, but I won't be a greenhorn long, ha ! ha! 
Well, where are we. Pike 1 

Pike. On the pinnacle of Stringtowu Hill. That gulch that day- 
light does'nt shine into is whar the South Pork of Feather flows. 
To get to it you've got to roll and tumble about a mile down into the 
bowels of the airth, and when you get to the bottom, you can hear 
the tinkers at work on the other side. If it was'nt for the ravines 
and side gulches the quickest way to get down would be to roll ; but 
as it is, you'd be squashed into a jelly by going it on the perpendicu- 
lar over the crags ; so we have to go it zigzag, like a water snake, 
till we fetch up on the first bench for a breathin spell. 

Mary. How in the world are we to get to the bottom of such a gulf 7 

Pihe. Thar's only one way that I knows on. 

Mary. How is that 1 , 

Pike. Lend me your petticoat. 

Mary. My petticoat 1 gracious ! 

John. A petticoat. Pike — you're jesting. 

Pike. A petticoat — I want to borrow a petticoat — I do. 

Mary. To get me down the hill '? 

Pike. Sartain. , 

John. Explain. 

Pike. Why, a public officer must always have his vouchers, and I, 
being commissary and wagon master, must have mine. I can't get a 
live woman, three mules and a jackass into camp at oncst — no human 
could do it down sich a hill. 'The boys in the cabin must be short of 
feed, and they shan't go hungry ; so the mules must go with the pro- 
visions fust, and you must wait till the next load. Now, if I go into 
camp and tell the boys I've got a live female woman as part cargo, 
they'll think I'm drunk or crazy, and won't believe a word — but if I 
show the papers, with a clear bill of health, they'll acknowledge the 
corn, and tote von in. 



16 A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 

Mary. Ha ! ha ! "Well, if I can't reach the diggins without a pass- 
port, you shall have it. [ Goes into the tent and br'ings out apetticoat.] 
Here it is, and I hope they'll believe the book. 

Pike. AH K. Now make yourselves comfortable till I bring up 
pay dirt. [Goes out, and is heard driving his mules.] Get up, Mula! 
ah, Short-Tail! huppah ! Mula — arriva! arrea, Jacky. Huppah! 
you devils ! huppah ! [Uxeunt, l. 

SCENE V. — The Hill, lower down. Jones discovered clinging to a 

tree. 

Jones. [Solo.] Here I am, brought up all standing, with a round 
tuni at that. If this is'nt the cussedest hill in all Californy ! I don't 
know which end up I came do\vn. If it had'nt been for this pine, the 
Lord only knows where I should have went to. I'll hold on to the roots 
and take an observation. \SHs down.] I wonder where this trail leads 
to — wonder if there is anything to eat at the bottom of the gulch — 
wonder if I shall live to get there 1 0, my stomach! uny! [G)-oans.] 
What would I give to see a water cart coming down the hill, loaded 
with bread, bacon, and brandy cocktails, and siuash up against this 
tree! 0, Jones, you won't be Jones much longer. 0, my stomach! 

[ Groans. 

Pike. [Outside, n. v. E.j Stop tliat mule ! stop that mule ! d n 

her ! don't you see Short-Tail going over the rocks 1 [Rushes in.] 
Why the d 1 did'nt you stop that infarnel varmint 1 

Jones. [Lugubriously.] Humph ! It was all I could do to stop 
myself; and if it had'nt been for this tree, my carcass would'nt have 
stopjjed rolling for the next generation. [Groans. 

Pike. It's the first time I ever know'd Short-Tail to stampede ; 
and its all owin to bein rid by a woman. I believe, in my soul, that 
woman will make a stampede among all the mules and asses in the 
diggins. 

Jones. Stranger, you hav'nt got such a thing as a-biscuit about ye, 
have ye 1 I'm so hungiy that I could eat a young digger, and wash 
it down, with about a gallon of brandy, and three of the biggest dams 
on the Yuba. 

Pike. Why, who ar you — what ar you prospecting here for 1 

Jones. My name is Jones, and I've stuck my stake here because I 
can't stick it anywhere else 1 

Pike^. Jones — I've heard that name before. Any relation of Sam ' 
Jones, 'the fisherman, wlio fished for clams oft' Sandy Hookl 

Jones. No, I don't belong to that family, though I've been going it 
hook and line for the last three years. 

Pike. Maybe you're John Jones, stranger 1 

Jones. Nary time — he was hung, in company with John Brown 
and John Smith, at Nevada. 

Pike. Wal, who the d 1 ar you, anyhow 1 

Jones. My name's Bill Jones ; called for short William E. Jones, 
Esq., type-setter by profession and roller by practice, for I rolled 
from the top of this hill till I brought up against this tree. 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 17 

Pike. ! a printer man, ar ye 1 Goin to establish a paper in the 

digjrins 1 

Jones. Well, I've had a press for the last forty-eight hours. My 
form is about locked up, and my leader, I think will be an obituary, 
with an epitaph on the death of the late editor, William E. Jones, Esq. 
Humph ! I'm about knocked into pi — I wish a pie was knocked into 
me. [ Groans. 

Pike. I'm glad to see you, old fellow. Thar's a good opening for 
a paper at Stringtown, and I always pati'onize a paper. What will it 
be — the Stringtown Gazette 1 

Jones. Yes, and I shall gazette my own death and burial in the 
maus of the Cayotes, I reckon. Hav'nt you got the least slice of 
pork, and a handful of dried beans about you 1 I hav'nt ate a mouth- 
ful for three days, and I'm as hungry as a printer's devil. 

Pike. What ! hav'nt ate for three daj^s 1 why, you are famishing. 
Hold on till I overhaul " Short-Tail." Why, I'll divide the last biscuit 
with you, and give you the biggest half. [Runs out and brings in a 
pack.] Here, here, old fellow, here's liquor,' here's bacon, here's 
bread — pitch in, pitch in — thar's beans, thar's cold slapjacks, thar's — 
thar's — pitch in — no surface diggins, lay hold, and go to the bed rock. 

Jones. [Laughs deliriously.] Ha ! ha ! ha ! The water cart's 
come. I say, waiter, a broiled chicken, with butter gravy — don't be 
particular — cook the whole of her, coop, feathers and all. [Seizes a 
hottle.] Gentlemen, your health — ha! ha ! ha ! [Brinks and eats.] Do 
you know what I think 1 

Pike. Poh ! how should 1 1 

Jones. Well, I think that Noah never had a sweeter piece of bacon 
in the ark than this. Hogs are delicious animals, aint they 1 

Pike. Judging by some speciments I've seen, I think they're rather 
voracious. All right, all right — a streak of luck for you, Bill Jones. 
Now tell me how you got in close quarters. 

Jones. Why, you see— [drinks] — your health — I like good manners 
next to good fare. I had a claim in Jackass Gulch, but it got so 

d d poor it did'nt pay but an ounce a day, and I could'nt stand 

that, and I determined to find better diggins. I heard they were 
taking out fifty dollars to a man on Humbug Flat, so Jim Simmons, 
from Whiskey Bar, and Sam Slope, from Shirt Tail Canon, come 
along, and we agreed to go prospecting together. We loaded a mule 
with pro'^isions, and struck across the South Fork of Yuba in search 
of Humbug, and I've found it to a dead certainty. 

Pike. Wan 

Jones. Towards evening of the second day, we halted on a little 
branch. The boys were gathering wood to build a fire, and I was 
about unpacking the mule, when an almighty grizzly, with two cubs, 
rushed out of the chapparel, and made at us with a mouth open seven- 
teen miles wide. It was devil take the hindmost with us ; the boys 
broke for the tall timber ; I climbed a tree, while our mule took a 
stampede as if seven devils was on her trail. 

Pike. Wal, that was funny. Ha ! ha ! ha ! How did you go it on 
a swinging limb 1 



18 A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 

Jones. Why, old griz seemed to think my flesh the sweetest, and 
tried to climb after me, to get a taste of my toe nails, but the tree 
was too hinall, and she couhhi't ge-t tip. 

Pike. Ha ! hto! Why didn'i you come down 1 

Jones. Why, I thought if slie would let me alone, I would her, and 
more particiilaiiy as the boys had run off with the rifles, and my pistol 
had no cap on. Well, we sat and grinned at each other for about an 
hour, and I out-grinned her — she got ashamed of herself, and concluded 
to go somewhere else for a supper. 

Pike. What became of the boys 1 

Jones. D d if I know. As .soon as I thought it would answer, 

I slid down and hunted about for the mule and shouted for the boys ; 
but they were gone, hook and line, so I wandered about till midnight, 
when I turned in all alone, without a blanket or a biscuit — but it 
wasn't long before I found myself in a settlement. 

Pike. What, when you was all alone % 

■Jones. Yes, for I found that in the dark I had laid down on a nest 
of red ants, and in ten minutes I wished myself in the mouth of the 
old bear, just for a change. 

Pike. Whj', yes, that was murder by inches, without benefit of a 
rope. 

Jones. When daylight came, I found I wasn't anywhere, with all 
the world before me. I was teetotally lost, and all I could do, I 
couldn't find myself; so I kept going on for three days, when I struck 
this trail, and I knew it would bring me out somewhere, if I could 
only hold on — and sure enough, it brought me up with a side winder 
against this tree, and if you hadn't come along I should have gone to 
quad, and my composing stick filled with dead lines and a dash. 

Pike. Wal, Bill Jones, your 're on the right trail, now ; a few more 
rolls will bring you to our cabin right side up. 

Jones. I'm fond of rolls, but I like 'em hot and well buttered, best. 

Pike. The boys will be glad to see you. We'll set you up, and all 
take your paper. Plenty of contributors in the diggins, too — in fact, 
you needn't write any thing yourself. Thar's Old Swamp great on 
sarmons — can go it like a cart-hor.se. The Judge is a tall coon on 
law ; Stokes is a ra'al wiggler on polotics, and can bray a speech like 
a jackass ; and I'm a riproaror on poetry. 

.Jones. You a poet 1 

Pike. You may lay your life on that ! Never read my poem on 
my true love, did you 1 

Jones. No. 

Pike. I reckon not — the printer man at Sacramento Avouldn't print 
it — didn't 'predate genius ; but you shall print it, and we'll sell it at 
two bits a copy and divide the profits, old fel. 0, its capital. 

" 0, Carolina Betsy's yaller hair 

Has laid my heart and innards bare." [Reciting. 

Jones. There, there — take a drink, and let the rest go till we get to 
the bottom of the hill. There is genuine poetry in your heart, if tliere 
is not in your i)oem, and I'll set yoa up in capitals, if I don't your 
rliymes. 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 19 

Pike. Well, help me straighten up Short Tall, who's lodged in the 
mansinieto's, and we'll straighten the pome when your press gets to 
grinding. 

Jones. Go ahe^d. For once in my life I'm in luck. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Inside of a miner's cabin ; group of miners variously 
engaged — some mending clothes, some cooking, some washing clothes 
at the tuash-tub, some lying in hunks ; Old Swamp is trying to bake 
slap-jacks in a frying-pan. 

Joe. [Trying to mend boot with fork.] 1 say, Old Swamp, I'm sav- 
age as a meat-ax-^ain't breakfast most ready. The lizards have been 
licking their chop's the last hour. 

Old Swamp. [Trying to turn a cake in the pan.] Swallow a piece 
of your boot, Joe, to keep your stomach. This is the last we've got, 
any how, and unless Pike gets back pretty soon, you'll have a chance 
to girt up, Indian fashion, unless you're good at catching rats. 

Joe. Traps are all broke — powder gone— and rats shy and half 
starved, Old Swamp. Have to go it on fried boots. 

Old Swamp. Leetle too much cold water in this batter — the cakes 
don't get done brown, and don't turn easy. 

Joe. Put a little whisky in 'em. Old Swamp — they'll soon turn over 
on their own hook. 

Old Swamp. Pshaw ! the Judge and Stokes drank up the last drop- 
not enough left te wet your eye. No matter — the cakes will go fur- 
ther half cooked. 

Stokes. [At the wash tub.] Judge, I see you are on the bench — 
what case is on the docket for to-day 1 

Judge. [Mending a very ragged pair of pants.] Action for rents — 
an old suit — parties trying to compromise. 
Stokes. What's the prospect, .Judge '^ 

Judge. [Holds up the pants.] Doubtful whether the parties agree, 
. I can see through the hole, but the parties may trick anon for a new 
trial^they're trying to patch it up somehow. 
Stokes. How is the evidence 1 

Judge. Strong on one side — and a good deal of re-button testimony 
will be required to uphold the suit. Old Swamp, I want to examine 
you. 

Old Swamp. Want me to swear. Judge 1 

Judge. No, no — you swear wickedly enough every day to answer any 
court in the mines. 

Old Swamp. Then you won't take me up for contempt '? 
■Judge. Not if you go acording to Bacon. 

Old Sivamp. I've been on bacon the last fifteen minutes, and it's 
the last piece in the cabin; there isn't grease enough in the bone to 
fry itself — but it will go further half cooked. 

Judge. Stand aside — such testimony won't pay my fees — you'll 
( starve judge, jury, and all the parties out. 

Old Swamp. Have to stay proceedings for want of grease to 
the griddle. It's a fact — we can't go on much longer! 



20 A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 

Stokes. [ Wlw is washing a shirt — sleeves rolled up. ] The question 
of ways and means is before the house. 

Joe "Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound." 

Stokes. Mr. Speaker — I call the gentleman to order, A thorough 
renovation is necessary to our larder, gentlemen ; our stores have been 
consumed; the relentless rats 

Joe. Two legged rats, Mr. Speaker. 

Stokes. I call the gentleman to order. The bill which I am about 
to offer to the house will have a soaporific effect upon the shirt bosoms 
of my constituents. 

Joe. Hope I shan't have to pay the gentleman's bill, Mr. Speaker ; 
too much liquor in it for a temperance man. 

Stokes. I say, Mr. Speaker, my bill will have a soaparific ofifect. 

Judge. On the bowels, man — on the bowels. Hang your law and 
legislation for spare diet ; empty stomachs require strong tonics and 
stimulants. 

Old Sivamp. Not pork enough left to stimulate the stomach of a 
horned toad — only a mouthful left. 

Joe. Enough for a taste all round. Tie a string to it — swallow it 
and pull it back again — and so let it go around ; you'U all have a taste, 
and a grand operation will be produced. 

Judge. I object to such practice in my court ; some knave of a 
lawyer will bite the string off, and the bacon will be teetotallj'^ incar- 
cerated. 

Stokes. Mr. Speaker — the gentleman's plan is ingenious, but will 
not apply to all cases. Some of my constituents have throats that no 
string can fathom, if I may judge by the streams of fluid running 
down. 

Joe. Dam them up, then, by tieing a string tight outside. 

Old Swamp. Don't be afraid, boys — if worse comes to worst, we'll 
mend the traps and go it on rats; I'm great on trappin. 

Joe. 0, for a friccaseed rat. Here, Old Swamp, fry that — [throws 
his boot out] — don't cook it quite done, it will go further ; it has al- 
ready gone several miles. 

[Sings.] 0, Susannah, don't you cry for me — 

I'm eating up my boots in Californiee. 

Judge. Ilark ! there's a noise at the door, 

Joe. Some poor devil coming to beg a breakfast — I shall have to 
divide my boot with him. Old Swamp, don't cook it done — 'twill go 
farther. 

Old Swamp. Boys, it's Pike ; I know the tramp — it's Pike and the 
jackass. Plenty to eat now. 

Enter Pike and Jones. 

All. Huzzah ! for Pike — huzza ! for Short-Tail, slapjacks and mo- 
lasses ! Pork and beans now, and no mistake. 

Pike. I'm glad to see you, boj's. Thar's no place like home arter 
all, with plenty of hog and hominy — hoe cake and possum fat 

Old Swamp. Two days over time. Pike. We concluded the diggers 



I A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 21 

were on your trail, aud that you had fell into the stomach of a digger 
squaw like a roasted caterpillar. 

Pike. Never fell into a woman's bosom as deep as that in all my 
life. Devil to pay with Short-Tail ; got rid by a witch ; took the 
stampede ; rolled down hill, and finally, Short-Tail and I got into the 
editor business, and picked up a printer man, who M'as mighty near 
struck oflf"; had'nt ate a mouthful in a month, and the way he pitched 
into the bacon and brandy was like a greenhorn on his first day's 
work. Here he is, boys — let him dig for himself now. 

Jones. I'm like a licked politician, gentlemen — nothing to say. but 
keep up a devil of a thinking. My long primer was about run out, 
and if Pike had'nt come along I should'nt have had an index by this 
time. 

Old Swamp. A miner's latch string is always out — pull, and the door 
of his heart, as well as his cabin will open to distress. We'll divide 
our last biscuit with you. 
Judge. We will share such as we have with you. 
Stokes. I vote aye to that. 

Joe. Old Swamp, cook t'other boot now — well done and plenty of 
gravy. 

Jones. No abbreviations or periods to my thanks, gentlemen — I am 
an exclamation — not a single leaded column in my heart. 

Pike. Thar, Bill- Jones, did'nt I tell you so 7 Depend upon it, ef 
thar's a mean streak in a man so long [measures the top of his finger], 
it's bound to come out of him in California, and ef he has got a good 
streak, he can't keep it in no how you can fix it.* Boys, do you 
know what this is 1 [Holds up the petticoat. 

Old Swamp. You've been stealing a white shirt. Pike. 
Stokes. It's a long petition on parchment, for the relief of widows 
— grass widows, Mr. Speaker. 

Joe. No, no, its a table cloth to eat fried boots on. 

[Pike gets into it. 
Judge. It's a petticoat, by heavens ! Blackstone, what revolution 
is at hand 1 

Miners. A petticoat ! a petticoat ! Huzza ! huzza ! 
Old Swamp. What female woman have you murdered to get that 
skin? 

Pike. Do you s'pose I'd kill a woman to get her j)etticoat 1 I'd 
rather destroy a dozen petticoats to get one live woman, you varmints 
— and you know it, you do. I hope I may never strike a lead if the 
animal did'nt give it to me with her own hands. 

Stokes. You've robbed some washerwoman's clothes line in Sacra- 
mento. 

Pike. Nary time, old fellow. Hav'nt been near a clothes line since 
my mother wallopped me with one for drowning kittens in the wash 
tub. The fact ar, the animal who owns this skin is at the top of the 
hill, and sends this by Short-Tail, with her compliments, and hopes 
you'll help her down. 



^ The actual expression of a young Pike County man to the author, 



22 A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 

Old Swamp. A rael live woman corain to the Mines — unpossible ! 

Pike. As true as yer born, boj's. Short-Tail and I fotched her our- 
selves — she put the devil into the mule tho', 

Joe. The milleuium has come ! 

Pike. No, it's only a woman. 

Joe. Let's eat breakfast in a hurry, and go and tote her into town. 

Judge. D n the breakfast, boys — let us go and get a sight of 

her before the dew carries her off. 

Stokes. Slapjacks and molasses would be worse than emetics now. 
Let's hear from you, old minister — what do you say 1 

Old Swamp. [Slowly, and with emphasis.] Joe, take down that 
fiddle and rosin tlie bow. 

Joe. [.Tumps after it.] It's in tune, and if it aint it's no matter. 

Old Swaynp. Now, boys, remember you had mothers onset — don't 
make fools of yourselves, but make a carcle. [They circle around 
Pike.] Now, Joe, give us Hail Columby, Star Spangled, Yankee 
Doodle, and Rory O'More all at onset ! and, boys, let your legs go 
prospecting as if the richest kind of a lead was before you. Try your 
boots, boys — try your boots. [Plays a lively air ; miners dance mer- 
rily around Pike in a grotesque manner. 

Pike. [ Unable to contain himself, dances inside the ring, croiving.] 
Cock-a-doodle-doo-oo-oo ! 
[.Joe becomes too much excited to play, and capers about without music] 

Stokes. Hello ! we've danced the fiddle into the negative. Old 
Swamp, take it up where Joe left oft'. 

Old Swamp. [Sings.] 

A petticoat flag is the miner's delight — 
It awakens sweet thoughts of our mothers at home ; 
Our sweethearts and wives to dear memory bright : 
All the girls we will welcome whenever they come. 

Now, boys, get your rifles and pistols — Joe, hand me the whisky 
bottle. Form line, boys — form line ; go it in millintary order. Joe, 
give us General Washington's most particular grand march. [Joe 
plays.] Shoulder arms ! forard march. 

Miners. Huzza ! huzza for a " live woman in the mines." [Exeunt. 

SCENE yil. — Tlietop of the hill. Miners enter, l., before the tent — 
give a cheer and fire a salute; Mary screams inside, and John 
rushes out alarmed. 

John. Good heavens, gentlemen ! what is the matter "? 

Miners. Old Swamp ! Old Swamp ! 

Old Swamp. [ Gets up on a rock.] Stranger, we were white men 
oncst ; it seems like a very long time ago — but we have a tradition 
that some of us wore white shirts and short beards, but it is so long, 
I don't vouch for it. It has been handed down to us, bj' various let- 
ters through the post office, that we war born into the world, and that 
our mothers wore live female women. It is so long since we have seen 
a woman, that we don't exactly know what they are, but the doctor 



A LtvB wo;o:a>' in the mines. 23 

here says a woman is a female man of the human specie. Pike County 
Jess showed us a skin of a strange animal, and swears it helongs to a 
female woman of the human specie ; he says, too, that you have 
caught the animal, and had her alive on exhibition. Now, stranger, 
we want to take a look at the thing, and I pledge you my honor we 
won't stampede her. 

John. Ha ! ha ! ha ! gentlemen — well, this is a droll specimen of 
the mines — yes, I have caught such an animal — rather rabid, but if 
you will risk the consequences, I'll show her up. 

Old Swamp. We'll take the chances — ^trot her out — trot her out. 

[Exit John into the tent. 

Enter John and Maey. 

Miners. Huzza for " a live woman in the mines !" Huzza for our 
mothers, our wives and sweethearts at home ! 

Pike. Huzza for Carolina Elizabeth Martin ! — commonly known as 
High Betty Martin — that's my gal, it is. 

Miners. Huzza ! Huzza ! 

Mary. Gentlemen, I thank you for your kind reception — may I be 
able to make you some return % 

Old Swamp. Hi ! gal ! won't you sew the buttons on our pants 1 
won't you make light bread and bunkum hoe-cake "? won't you make 
good gruel for a sick miner "? won't you make us wear white shirts of 
a Sunday, and help Pike make poetry and me sarmons 1 

Mary. Indeed, I'll do all I can for you, I'm sure. 0, John, when 
we were starving in Sacramento, we little thought of finding such 
warm hearted friends in the mines ! 

Old Swamp. Friends, gal 1 why we'd all be fathers and mothers 
brothers and sisters to you. Boys, a drink all round ! here, gal- 
beauty before age. [hands her the bottle ; she drinks from it.] Now, 
boys, strike the tent. [Tent is taken down.] Make a chair for the gal, 
two o' ye. [They make a chair by clasping hands.] Three cheers for 
the first " live woman in the mines." [Cheers. 

Joe. Three cheers for the first white man tvho brought his wife to 
the mines. 

Pike. And three cheers for High Betty Martin, who's coming to 
the mines. 
I The Miners seat Makt between them ; others shoulder John ; Joe 

strikes up a march ; Pike raises the petticoat for a flag as they 

•march out. Curtain on picture, 

END of act I. 



24 A LIVE WOMAN IN THB MIHBS. 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — A Deep Gulf. — Hillsides rocky and steep, and covered 
with undergrowth. An emigrant wagon, a little in the hack ground. 

Enter Betsey and Sluice, l. it. e. 

Betsey. Sluice, whar ar we '? 

Sluice. According to the best of my judgment, we are here. 

Betsey. Lord, Sluice ! any fool knows that. But whar's our whar- 
abouts 1 

Sluice. In a devilish deep gulch, in my opinion. 

Betsey. How are we to get out of it 1 

Sluice. I don't know, unless we wait till the world gets upside- 
down, and fall out. 

Betsey. Aint thar no eend to it 1 

Sluice. Yes, one end has a perpendicular fall over the rocks an 
hundred feet — the other end has'nt any beginning, so far as I can see. 

Betsey. What on airth did we come down for 1 

Sluice. I don't know any other reason than by the force of gravi- 
tation, and woman's will. I told you we had better head the gulch, 
and go around it ; but no, down you would come, over rocks and 
bushes, and now you are like a rat in a trap — can't neither back out 
nor go further. Now you see where woman's will has brought you 
to. 

Betsey. I don't care a snap, Bill Sluice. I was'nt going six miles 
around to make half a mile — I go it on short cuts, I do. 

Sluice. Well, we shall go it on short cuts now, for it won't take long 
to starve to death here. 

Betsey. Who talks of starving to death 1 If you are so easily dis- 
couraged, you'd better go back to Sacramento, and practice in the 
Round Tent. 

Sluice. I had rather starve to death with you. 

Betsey. Good. If worse comes to worse, we'll pack the cattle, leave 
the wagon, and work our way to Stringtown. 

Sluice. And leave Uncle Joe sick to be eaten up by the wolves. 

Betsey. No, no, no — that won't do — no, never. You shall go to 
Btringtown, hunt up Jess, bring him here, and then we'll take our 
wagon to pieces, carry it up the hill wheel at a time, shoulder Uncle 
Joe, drive the cattle up, put the wagon together, and — whoa ! haw ! 
Berry, who's afraid ■? 

Sluice. A woman's wit, a woman's wit for ever ! It's a pity you 
was'nt a man. 

Betsey. Why, Sluice'? 

Sluice. You'd make a capital general. You would have fought 
your way through Mexico as well as General Taylor, without men, 
money or provisions. 

Betsey. I should need better soldiers than you, then. 

Sluice. Can't I shoot — can't I fight — can't I dig 1 

Betsey. Yes, and you can lay in the gutter like a loafer. 

Sluice. Um! [Groatis.] That's ungenerous, 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 25 

Betsey. Pshaw ! you di-aw a close sight, but you can't stand grief 
— you're like a faithful dog — can fight well, but want somebody to set 
you on. You'd make a good soldier, but a poor general. 

Sluice I give it up — there is no use in disputing with a woman. 
Let her have her own way, and its all sunshine — contradict her, and 
a thunder storm raises directly. Well, general, what is to be done "? 

Betsey. Put a piece of bread and bacon in your pocket, shoulder 
your rifle, and go out on a scout, and see if thar's any place to get 
our wagon out. I'll stand guard over the cattle and Uncle Joe, and 
mind, don't you come back without finding a trail — d'ye hear 1 

Sluice. [Ooing.] I'm gone. 

Betsey. Stop ! 

Sluice. I'm stopped. 

Betsey. Whar's your rifle 1 

Sluice. In the wagon. 

Betsey. Get it. Never stir from your camp in a wild country with- 
out your arms. Suppose you meet an Indian, or a grizzly — what 
show would you have for your own skin 1 

Sluice. Right again, general. The fact is, if California is ever in- 
vaded by an enemy, with a regiment of Pike county women we can 
defy the devil. [ Gets his rifle, and exit. 

Betsey. [Sitting down on a rock.] 0, dear, what trouble I have in 
hunting up a man — come two thousand miles, and havn't found him 
yet ; ef it had been any body else but Jess I'd seen all the men hung 
first, afore I'd wore out so much shoe leather in running arter 'em ! 
Ef it hadn't been for him I'd have been hoein corn and pulling flax on 
the plantation now, instead of climbing these hills. These pesky men 
do bother our heads so orfully when they do get in ; thar's no gettin 
along without one — and after all thar isn't one in an hundred that's 
worth the trouble they give us. Then, like a flea, thar's no sartinty 
of catching one — for just as yer get yer finger on him, like as any way 
he's hoppin off" arter somebody else. Let me catch Jess hoppin arter 
somebody else. Giminy ! wouldn't I give him Jessie 1 — wouldn't I 
crack him 1 0, Jess, Jess — ^you run arter somebody else ! 0, mur- 
der ! 0, ef he should 7 ! ! [ Weeps.] I'm a poor, lone, lorn wo-* 
man — Uncle Joe sick — lost in the mountains— and Jess, my Jess, to 
serve me so ! My courage is gone — my boots worn out — wagon tire 
getting loose — my best har comb broke — all a trying to find a man, 
and him to use me so. [ Weeps.] It wiU break my heart ! ! ! ! 
[A gun shot is heard.] Ha ! [Springs up and listens.] Sluice in trou- 
ble 1 [Forgets her lamentation instantly ; runs to the wagon and 
seizes a rifle.] Keep still. Uncle Joe — ef thar's danger I'm ready for it. 

Enter Sluice, running. 

Betsey. What is it. Sluice — ^what is it 1 

Sluice. 0, nothing in particular — ^no harm done yet — can't say wh?it 
may come. 

Betsey. Let it come. Sluice ; only give us a fair chance for a skrim- 
mage. 

^ice, I was picking my way through the chapparel, when I dis- 

2 



26 A. LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 

covered fresh digger tracks, and 1 tljought some of the Indians were 
lurking about to stampede our cattle. Directly I got a glimpse of one 
of the rascals, and 1 thought I'd give him leave to quit, so I just put 
a ball through the top of his hair, and such an almighty yell you 
never heard, and such a scratching of gravel you never saw, for the 
black devil ran as if a young earthquake was at his heels — I did'iit 
hurt him though, only gave him a hint to move his boots. 

Betsey. That's right ; never take human life except iu self-defence. 
Ef thei/'ll let its alone, we will let them. Glad it's no worse. Did you 
find a chance to get the wagon out 1 

Sluice. Yes, I found a side ravine, and by taking the point I think 
we can get the wagon up — it's a tight squeeze though, for it's a little 
less than a perpendicular. 

Betsey. We'll go it on the perpendicular then, and go it clar. As 
for staying here I shan't do it, so thar. [To herself.] And ef I do find 
Jess in cahoot with any live woman, won't I wake snakes and peel 
his skin. [Exit, and is heard behind the scenes.] Whoa — haw Buck ! 
Gee up. Berry ! 

SCENE II.— Exterior of Log Cabin. 

Enter John and Mart. Mart with a broom. 

Mary, [r.] Well, Mr. Storekeeper, how do you sell beans to-day 1 

John, [l.] By the pound, generally, Mrs. Express Man. 

Mary. Ha ! ha ! I didn't know but you sold them by the yard — are 
you sure that you know beans 1 .. 

John. I profess an acquaintance with them when they are well 
baked — think I can tell a bean from a broomstick, madam. 

Mary. [Raising her broom, threatening good naturedly.] Perhaps 
I had bettor test your knowledge. 

John. No, no — not now ; try me on beans first. 

Mary. Well, weigh me out five pounds, then, for dinner. 

John. Got the dust to pay for them 1 No credit here — pay as you go. 

Mary. [Raising her broom.] I'll raise a dust for you if you don't 
get the beans — no beans, no dinner ! 
' John. How sharp you are — you shall have the beans. 

3Iary. And you'll be sharp enough, too, when the beans are cooked. 

John. I'll try to get my pay, any how. 

Mary. No fear of that, for you already have a miner's appetite. 

John. Nothing better than our pure mountain air for that. 

Mary. 0, John, we are so happy, now ! everybody is so kind to us — ■ 
all are so good natured. Why, I never was happier in my life — and 
it is so much better here than starving in the city ! 

John. I never knew I was good for anything till I came here. 

Mary. Nor I, either ; now I know I am worth beans. Ha ! ha 1 

John. Circumstances make men — aye, and women, too — and if we 
are only willing to help ourselves, why, iu due time — in miner's lang- 
uage — we may strike a lead. 

Mary. True — and we have struck the lead — let us follow it. The 
kind-hearted boys have set us up in business, and scarcely ever seem 
satisfied unless when they are doing something to help us on. 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 27 

John. God bless them I Any package for me in ycm- department, 
madam Express Man 1 

Mary. Yes, an empty pail and an ax ; I want the charges paid. 

John. Pail and ax — charges ! what are the chai'ges 1 

Mary. Fill the pail at the spring— cut an armful of wood — and get 
five pounds of beans. 

John. Charges outrageous ! I'll forfeit the packages ! 

Mary. If you do, you'll forfeit your dinner — take your choice — 
can't cook beans without water and fire. 

Johrb. And I can't eat beans without being cooked ; I'll take the 
pail and pay the charges. No getting ahead of a woman, I see. 

Mary. And be quick, John, dear, for the express will be in soon, 
and you know what a throng we shall have around us. By the way, 
I found two letters in the box, this morning, addressed to me. 

John. Two letters? Somebody making love to you, I suppose, 
already. 

Mary. Yes, indeed — ^is that any business of yours 1 [Playfully. 

John. I suppose not, in California, where women do business on their 
own account, independent of their husbands. Still, 1 might be just 
the least bit in the world jealous. 

Mary. And with some reason, John — ^for if they are not love letters, 
they are loves of letters. 

John. I'm all curiosity — ^besides, I wan't to know who I've got to 
shoot. ^ 

Mary. No doubt ! Well, here they are — read them. 

[Handing him the letters. 

John. They look as if they had been written with a pick or shovel, 
rather than a pen. [Reads. 

" For and in consideration of mending pants, sewing on buttons and 
patching shirts, and trying to make an old man happy by sundry 
kindnesses — know all men and female women by these here presents : 
I hereby sell and make over to Mary Wilson, my half interest in* 
claim No. 10 — situate, lying and being on Whisky Bar, Feather 
Kiver diggins. State of Californy, United States of Ameriky — for 
hor whole soul's benefit and behoof, and her husband hasn't any- 
thing to do with it." (The deuce he hasn't — setting up for yourself 
withaut advertising, are you'?) "And I agree to prospect her said 
claim with pick, shovel and pump, clear to the bed rock, free gratis 
for nothing, from date." — Ambrose Swamp. 

Shan't shoot old Swamp for that. [Opens the other. ^ Poetry, eh 1 
this must be a love letter in earnest. [Reads, 

" I, Jessie Jenkins by name, 

Give Mary Wilson my half claim — 

Know'd as number ten 

By all the mining men — 

Which I, in cahoot 

With that ar old brute 

Call'd Swamp, on Whisky bar- 



ZO A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 

Hopin she may clar 

Ten thousand dollars on sight. 

To which I subscribe iny hand write 

With a pen like a pole — 

And may the Lord have mercy on your soul." 

Jess Jenkins, 
Known as Pike County Jess. — Amen. 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! Shan't shoot Pike for that — God bless him ! Ah ! 
Mary, Mary, if you havn't fallen in love with the boys, I have ; they 

are doing so much for us, I — I can't [Affected. 

[Post horn ts heard. 
Mary. Ah ! here is the express rider ; huny, John — hurry. 

[He takes the pail and ax and goes out. 

Enter Express Rider with his bags. 

Express Rider. Up to time and a leetle ahead, madam. Run the 
gauntlet between a pack of caj^otees, three grizzlies, and a whole 
tribe of Digger Indians — killed two horses and jumped a ledge an 
hundred feet — hung myself by the heels in the bushes — turned forty 
somersets down a canon — slept three nights on a snow bank — froze 
three legs stiff, had 'era amputated and climbed the hill next morning 
on crutches, and have brought lots of letters for the boys, and news- 
papers for the old ones. Please take the bags, ajjd give me a glass 
of brandy and water without any water in it. 

Mary. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Merry as an express man yet, I see. Well, 
come in, come in — we have always something for you. 

[Mary goes to the express counter. 

Enter Miners, l., hastily, as if rwming from their work. Half a 
dozen voices at once. 

Miners. Any letters for me 1 Have I got a letter 1 

Mary. Wheugh ! wheugh ! One at a time — one at a time — can't 
look for all at once ! 

Old Swamp. Form aline, boys — form a line ; give the gal a chance. 

1st Miner. I'll give Ave dollars for a letter ! 

2d Miner. I'll give ten — only give me a letter ! 

Old Swamp. Form line, bovs, or you'll never get a lettef. [They 
range in line.] Now, gal, look for rae. 

Mary. [Looking over the letters, calls out.] Ambrose Swamp. 

[Hands him a letter. 

Old Swamp. Glory ! here's five dollars. 

[Takes the letter and is going off. 

Mary. It's only a dollar — ^liere's the change. 

Old Swamp. 0, d n the change — keep it, gal — the letter's from 

Betsey and the children. 

1st Miner. Jonathan Sims ! 

Mary. No letter for Jonathan Sims. 

Jst Miner. [Passing on.] Go to thunder with your express — ^I won't 
strike a blow to-day — I'll get drunk 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 29 

2d Miner. Ros\yell Rattail. 

Mary. No letter for Roswell Rattail. 

Stokes. AVilliam Stokes. 

Mary. Letter for William Stokes. [Hands it. 

Stokes. Petitioner's prayer has been granted, and bill passed, Mr. 
Speaker. [Throwing his purse on the counter.] Take out an ounce, 
madam, never mind details. [Turns off to read his letter, leaving the 
purse. 

Judge. Edward Smaile. 

Mary. Letter for 'Edward Smaile. 

Judge. [Sings and dances.] Fol lol de riddle lol rol lol lol. [Throws 

down money.] D n the change. Boys, what'U you drink 1 I'll 

treat the whole crowd. 

Pike. Jessie Jenkins, commonly known as Pike County Jess. 

Mary. Sorry to say no letter for Pike. 

Pike. No letter ! I'll give that gal, High Betty Martin, the sack, by 
all the weasles that wear a skin, I will. No letter ! I'll go and whip 
Short-Tail out of spite, I will. 

Joe. Joseph Nudge. 

Mary. No letter for Joseph Nudge. 

Joe. No letter 1 Hav'nt heard from home in a j^ear. Don't believe 

I've got any friends in America. ,D n the luck — I'll emigrate to 

the North Pole, and fish for grizzlies through the ice. 

[Others are passing in dumb show — some receiving letters, some none 
— some getting newspapers, and ranging themselves around — some 
sitting on the floor, some leaning against the wall, reading their 
letters and papers. Old Swamp is in the fore ground, leaning 
against the wall, reading his letter, and wiping his eyes. 

Mary. Package for Old Swamp. 

Old Swamp. [Still absorbed with his letter.] Anan ! 

Mary. Pass it over to him. [Pike takes it, and puts it in his hand. 

Pike. Here, old fellow. Why — why, Old Swamp, you're cryin — 
bad news from home 1 

Old Swamp. [Struggling with emotion.] N — no ; all well, thank 
God. What's this "? [Holding up the package. 

Pike. Don't know — reckon it's a dogeretype; peel the skin off 
and see. 

Old Swamp). [Tears off th epaper, and, opens it.] It's my Betsey, and 
Jennie, and Bill ! [Looks at it a moment — kisses it, much affected.] 
My wife! my children! 0, if I could fly, wouldn't I be with you..' 
0, the misery of separation ! My wife, my children, my home ! 
[Bursts into tears. Miners gather round respectfully — Maky comes 
and takes his hand kindly. 

Mary. My father, there are better days coming — joy shall yet lighten 
your path, and home and happiness shall be yours again. Courage, 
my good father. Yon labor here to make them independent at home, 
and your love for them, and your present self-denial surely will be 
rewarded. You will yet be happy together. 

Old Swamp. [Still affected.] God bless you, gal. [Struggling mth 



80 A LIVK WOMAN I.V THK MINES. 

his feeUngs.'\ I'm an old fool. Somehow, women al^vays get on the 
soft side of me. [ With fervor.] I've got the best wife, the best chil- 
dren — thai- — thar — read — read it aloud. [Hands Mary the letter. 

Mary. [Reads.] " My dear husband : — I received your draft for one 
thousand dollars safe. I didn't know exactly what to do to get the 
money, so I took it up to Squire Gibbs. If you had seen him when 
he looked at the draft — I never saw a politer man — he actually sot a 
chair for rue. ' Did your old man send all this to youl Why, I'll take 
it, and give you the cash.' I tell you I felt proud of my old man that 
blessed minute, and I wish I could put my arms about his neck, and 
if you will come home, I will, and Bill and Jennie will — but you had 
better not come, for you will be kissed to death. Didn't I feel rich 
•with all that money — I was afraid I should lose it before I got home, 
but I didn't. I went right off, and paid up the mortgage on our place, 
then I paid the store debt, then the shoemaker, and everybody else, 
and I had nigh an hundred dollars left, and we didn't owe a dime in 
the world, and I felt so happy that I sat down and cried — I don't care, 
I cried like a child. The children thought we were so rich that we 
needn't take in washing any more, but I told them father might have 
bad luck, so we must keep at work and save all we could. Bill said 
he'd bring water, and Jennie said she'd pound the clothes, but I told 
the darlings they should go to school, for my heart was light enough 
to do all the work. Bill says he'll never owe nothing to nobody, and 
he M'ill work for father and mother when they get old, and they 
needn't work at all. We all talk about you ever}- night, and want to 
see you right bad. Dear husband, let the Californy chunks go, and 
come home to your chunks here. We send a thousand kisses." 

Old Swamp. Aint sich a wife and children worth workin for, boys'? 

Miners. Three cheers for Old Swamp and his wife at home ! 

Pike. Three cheers for High Betty — no, nary cheer, the gal didn't 
write me a letter to-day. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Front Wood Glen. 
Enter Cash and Dice, l. 

Dice. A pretty mess, we've made of it, Cash. Do you know where 
we are 1 

Cash. I know we have got clear of the harpies of the law, and that 
is all I care for till the thing is blown over a little. 

Dice. We've had a lucky escape — but what made you shoot that 
fellow 1. 

Cash. Shoot him 1 who wouldn't have shot him rather than lost the 
money 1 Everything was going right till the fellow saw me turn up 
the wrong card. The fact was, the wax on my fingers had worn 
smooth, and my thumb slipped, and he saw the trick. He accused 
me of cheating, and grabbed the money. Of course I wouldn't stand 
that, so I put a bullet through him, grabbed the money, and pnt out 
through the back door before the police could arrest me. 

Dice. You hadn't much time to spare, for a hornet's nest was raised 
in less than ten minutes. 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 31 

Cash. That ten minutes saved me, for I ran to the slough, and, as 
luck would have it, I found a boat, and in two minutes I was in the 
chapparel on the other side, made my way to the American, swam 
that, and was safe in our rendezvous till you came. 

Dice. Well, it will blow over in a month, so we can go back again. 

Cash. Yes, no trouble about that, for who cares about a miner 1 
They're only fair game for gamblers and lawyers to pluck. The only 
difference is, we win their money honorably, while the lawyers steal 
it by law. 

Dice. And if there is any fuss, why, we can buy up law, lawyers, 
judges, witnesses, and jurymen. The only trouble is, it may cost 
something to prove an alibi, or buy up straw bail. 

Cash. Exactly ; and if they put us in jail, for form's sake, why, it 
is not much trouble to break out by getting on the right side of the 
jailor. 

Dice. We'll have a little play-spell now by going on to some of the 
Bars, and prospecting in the pockets of miners at home. They work 
and we win. 

Cash. Right, old fellow. I had rather have a dozen lucky miners 
at my table than a whole plantation of niggers — I'll make more out 
of them, and if, now and then, one gets rapped over the head for be- 
ing too lucky, who cares — whose business is it T 

Dice. Good. Well, pnsh ahead — we'll see where this trail leads to. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE rV. — Stringtown. Pike and Swamp digging on Mary's 
claim,, in the fore ground — Miners at work in the distance. 

Old Swamp. Thar, Pike, we're comin to gravel, and the dirt looks 
right. [Examines. 

Pike. Mary's claim may turn out a good egg, arter all. Old Swamp, 
I love that gal. 

Old Swamp. It's lucky High Betty Martin don't hear you say that 
— she'd be in your hair worse nor a steel trap into a hairy coon. 

Pike. Geet out, you old varmint. My gal knows I'm true as steel 
to her. She knows that every gal I love is for her sake, and you know 
too that I don't want to stampede Mary Wilson. 

Old Swamp. Humph ! I'd trust you about as far as I would a fox 
with a goose, and your gal wouldn't trust you at all. 

Pike. Pooh ! make it up in a minute — Californy gals mighty for- 
giving. A leetle soft sodder, a trifle of honey, and fair promises, and 
they'll pull the wool over tlieir own eyes, kiss, and forgive. 

Old Swamp. But they don't forget, eh 1 I'd like to know. Pike, 
how on airth sich an ungainly varmint as you are made out to cotch 
any gal. 

Pike. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Aint I a beauty — aint I a roarer, a perfect 
wild bull, on the prairie 1 Why, the gal don't live on air and hoe 
cake that kin stand the glance of my eye. We were at a huskin fro- 
lic. When it come to the hoe dig, I pulled High Betty Martin on to 
the floor for a double shufile breakdown. 0, I'm death on the toe and 
heel. Well, Bill Sampson steps up, and swore he'd dance with my 
gal fust, and he gin me a push. He mought as well have tried to up- 



32 A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 

set a steamboat. " Hold on," says I, Bet sees fair play, and I pitched 
into the varmint, worse nor a gang of niggers into a cotton field. " Go 
your death, boys," shouted Betty — " I don't care which whips — but, 
Jess Jenkins, if you don't lick him, I'll lick you." In just two min- 
utes by the watch, Bill Sampson was the worst-licked man in the 
Settlement, and he owned up that he thought a young airthquake had 
hold on him. I popped the question to the gal that very night, and 
she caved like a young possom — said I was the boy for her beauty. 
Cock-a-doodle-doo ! 

Old Swamp. What made you fall in love with her ■? 

Pike. I seed her lift a barrel of whiskej' plump and square out of 
the cart on to the ground. I thought the gal what could do that 
could manage niggers as well as make gingerbread, and I didn't sleep 
a wink for three nights for thinking of her. 

Enter Jones, k. 

Here comes the printer man. AVell, old fellow, got your press a-going"? 

Jones. No ; haint dug enough to set up a form, nor made money 
enough to buy the types to set it up with. Have to start for Humbug 
again. 

Pike. Can't you rig out a printing machine on a sluice box, and 
make it go on the undershot principle 1 I'm great on machine poet- 
ry — can't you be great on machine printing 1 

Jones. yes ; no trouble about that ; the printing machine would 
be about equal to your poetry, but then there would be the devil to 
pay. 

Pike. The devjl 1 what's he got to do with your machine, or my 
poetry 1 

Jones. A good deal — every printer has his devil. 

Pike. Well, I know they're as saucy as the devil, but I didn't know 
they always kept one on hand. 

Jones. Always, Pike — and they've got stomachs to fill — you've 
heard of a man being as hungry as the devil — that means the printer's 
devil. 

Pike. Yes, I saw you in the same fix oncst, and didn't you pitch in 1 

Jones. Pretty much as I did into a turkey dinner once. 

Old Swamp. How's that 1 

Jones. * Bought a splendid turkey once, to give the devil, and all 
the other office imps a grand dinner. Fed him four times a day for 
six weeks, and when the old sinner got so fat he couldn't stand, I cut 
bis head off, pulled out his feathers, stuffed him with gingerbread and 
oysters, and hung him outside the house to freeze him tender. Went 
out next morning to bring him in to roast, and found he had given 
me the sli[), leaving a card that read "A bird in the hand is worth 
two in the bush." 

Pike. What ! a dead turkey run awa.v 1 Must have been of the 
Shanghai breed, and crowed his legs off the nail. 

Jones. Some hungry devil stole the turkey, and left nothing but 
the joke for us. 



* A literal fact. 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. od 

Old Swamp. And your guests "? 

Jones. 0, made it up on bacon and eggs, only there wasn't any 
eggs, and the bacon was boiled codfish. 

Enter Chinaman, l., much alarmed. 

Chinaman. Me help ! me help ! shooty me ! bang me shooty ! one, 
tree, five hundred Indian ! ! ! ! 

Fike. Shoot you, bang you, two or three hundred Indians 1 What 
the devil do you want with so many Indians 1 

Chinaman. No, no, no ! Pop ! bang ! bullet shooty me ! 

Old Swamp. Indians shoot you 1 

Chinaman. Gold prospect, me hill over. Par one dol,ar — one dol- 
lar, two bit — one dollar half. Indian come ! me bang ! bang ! bullet ! 
pop me ! two, tree, five hundred ! 

Pike. Hey ! Indians coming to the Settlement 1 we must look to it. 

Old Swamp. That ar a fact. Rally the boys ; call all hands ; we 
must drive them back. 

Pike. [Shouts.] Indians, boys, Indians ! Hurrah for a fight ! Fun, 
boys, fun — drop your tools, aud run, boys, run. 

Miners rush in, with their arms. 

Old Swamp. The Diggers are upon us, boys — let's meet them on 
the hill and surprise them 

Pike. Aud lick them before they have a chance to scalp Short- 
Tail. [All rush out, except Chinaman, with a " KuzzahV 

Chinaman. Chinaman no fight ; Chinaman skin good skin ; keep 
him so. Mellican man big devil — no hurty bullet him. 

SCENE Y.—Top of the HiU. 
Enter Betsey, with hoots in her hand, and Sluice. 

Sluice. Here's a trail that leads somewhere, and by the lay of the 
land. Feather River must be at the bottom of the gulch. 

Betsey. I'm glad on't. I've worn out one pair of good boots in 
hunting up a man, [throws down hoots,} I wouldn't give another pair 
for the best man alive, except Jess. 

Sluice. Well, let us go a little higher on the Ridge to ascertain our 
position. Stringtown cannot be very far off. [They walk tip the stage. 
Enter Pike, Swamp, and party, r. 

Pike. The varmints can't be far off, boys. Stay here — tracks — 
boots, too. They've killed somebody and stole their clothes — squat, 
boys, squat ! lay low till I take a peep. [All lay or squat down. 

Old Swamp. Hold, Pike — there's two of 'em. [Pointing to Sluice 
and Betsey.] Squat, boys, squat ! 

[Betsey and Sluice advance slowly. 

Pike. Cock your pieces, boys — don't fire till I give the word. 
Swamp and I will take them two — as fast as you fire drop down and 
load. Old Swamp, I'll take that tall squaw — you take the buck. 
[Pike a^id Swamp crouch hehind a tree, as Bstsey and Sluice ad- 
vance.] Are you ready. Swamp 1 say the word. [Taking aim. 

0. Swamp. Stay, Pike ! that's a white woman. 

Pike. No ; it's a d d squaw, 



84 



A LIVK WOMAN IN THK MINES. 



?* irJ:;c"»'l" Eor™"- a tact-thoy are human, from the 

°'"A!/;/'i/ Wrawina a knife and pistol, in alarm, rushes towards 
V^ltasifTsZ^MM.] You varmints 1 do you mean to harm a 

""pX." Snakes and alligators! That's Betsey-whoo-ra ! whoo-ra! 
Betsey. Jess-Jess-my Jess i^^xt^you^^ .^^^ each others arms. 
Pike Boys it's my own blessed High Betty Mjxvtin herselt, it is 
S;-s &.] Hurrah for High Betty Martm and Pike County 

''?^f wfiy'luy, I liope I may be shot if I didn't take you for a 

^S^X; /ilS^^^iSf rr r^-of ^ax ef I dldn-t take you 

%y t:;; 'na ? "^^"ol^oir^e a squaw, and the . other hke 
a iSbbfrsS enough ; but so long as the heart is in the right place, 

'^'ySr WeU boys, we'll let the diggers go-the Chinaman was naore 
sca^:?Jnhurt; [To Betsey.} Somebody shot at one of the Johns, 

n^:r hI":^ I t>t^^rSS ^:^ S^thougM he saw^an 

InfiS through the bushes, and fired his rifle to scare him ofl. It s 

done no harm, and only brought us together ^^^^^^^ ^^ ^^, ^, 

Old Swamp. It's the first time I ever knowed gunpowder to act 

' rSS' Wei, Sce-bring up the wagon-I've found Uie man, and 
let the boots be hanged. [Exit all, laughing and cheei mg, l. 1 e. 
SCENE ^fl.-Insideofa Miner^s Store-Miners lounging around. 
Cash and Dice seated at a table with a Monte Box. 
Dice Come boys, here's a chance for a fortune. Never say die 
wiS therneyin'hand. Come down, ^^y^' -™«,,^-^i;- ifC 
gather around the table-some throw money on ^'^^ ^f ^t; J^^'j i,^ \ 
Lany morel all downl [Draws the cards.} ^^^t^^^- 
the door. Bank wins. ^vanu ^v j/ 

Enter Old Swamp as Dice is speaking. 
Old Swamp. Knave in the door 1 A knave i.s always in the^door 
of a gambler's bank. Boys, you are fools. Doesn t your money 
come hard enough, that you must throw it away ! ^a^^h h« 

^ast Come dosVn, gentlemen. Fortune to the brave-don t be 
backward in coming forward-down-down-all down! 

ni,J <^wamn Bovs don't fool away your money. Remember your 
wi^fa^SrS home, save your money for then^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Bice. Bank wins. [Scrapes it up.] Come down, boys-no preaching 
here, old man-plenty of luck and good iquor. Landlord, six julips, 
four brandy smashes, at my expense— all down . 



A LIVE WOMAN IN THE MINES. 35 

Old Swamp. The varments ! I've a mind to break their heads, baiik 
and all, the fools. 

Jones. [ Who is reading a paper.] Old Swamp, read this article in 
the Sacramento paper. [Hands the paper, pointing to the article. 

Old Swamp. [Puts on his spectacles and reads.] It is as true as I 
am a living man. 

Jones. No mistake, they are the very men. 

Old Swamp. Boys, I want to read you a leetle news — rayther im- 
portant. 

Cash. Come down, come down — don't mind the old fool. 

Joe. What is it Old Swamp 1 

Miners. Yes, let's hear it. 

Old Swamp. Boys, keep your eyes skinned while I read — let no 
one leave the room. [Reads. 

" Proclamation. — One thousand dollars reward will he paid for the 
apprehension of a gambler, named Jacob Cash, who committed a 
brutal murder by shooting a miner named George Doan, on the 17th 
inst., in Sacramento. Said Cash is about five feet nine or ten inches 
in height, sandy hair, grey eyes, dark complexion, with a bold ad- 
dress. The murderer was accompanied in his flight by a confederate 
named Richard Dice, a man about " 

Cash. The devil ! Boys, the game is up for to-day. [Gathers up 
the money.] I want to speak with you. [To Dice. 

Old Swamp. Yes, villains, your game is up. Seize them, boys — 
they are the rascals. [Miners make demonstrations of taking them. 
Cash and Dice rise and draw their pistols. 

Dice. The first that moves is a dead man. Gentlemen, it is all a 
mistake — that is not the man^ — he is as innocent as I am. 

Old Swamp. Very likely. Birds of a feather flock together. 

Enter Pike and Betsey. 

Pike. What's the row, boys — any chance for me to take a hand 1 

Old Swamp. A murder has been committed in Sacramento — thar 
stands the murderer. Here's the Governor's proclamation, in black 
and white, offering a reward of one thousand dollars for his appre- 
hension. 

Pike. As sure as I'm a Christian, them's the very varmints who 
tried to stampede Mary Wilson.' Boys, I know the dogs — let's pin 'em. 

Cash and Dice. [Presenting their pistols.] The first man that stirs 
gets a bullet in him. 

Betsey. [Leveling her gun.] Mister, two can play at that game. 

Pike. High Betty Martin forever. [Presents his rifle.] Shall we 
shoot first, or will you 1 

Enter John and Mary. 

John. What is this, my friends 1 — I hope no difficulty among your- 
selves. 

Mary. John, John ! there stand the villains who sought to entrap 
us in Sacramento. 

John. The very men. Good heavens ! what a strange chance ! 

Dice. By heavens! the very woman. [To Cash. 

Pike, You've got just one minute to surrender. Ef you don't cave 



86 A LIVE WOMAK IK THE MINES. 

at onest, we'll make riddles of your carcasses, and send you to the 
Devil's Monte Bank. 

JDice. It's no use — [to Cash] — they're too many. Will you give us 
the benefit of the law "? 

Pike. Law 1 No — we'll hang you like dogs by miner's law. 

Old Swamp. No, boys — 'bide the law. If the law will do its 
duty, 'bide the law. It's time enough to take the law in hand when 
the authorities become scoundrels — till then, 'bide the law. We'll 
send them to Sacramento. 

Pike. With one condition, I agree to that. Give them the law of 
Moses first, so that they will not forget Stringtown — " forty lashes 
save one." 

Miners. Agreed ! agreed ! 

Dice. We surrender. Cash, we'll get off easy enough when we get 
a chance of the law. [They surrender — and, as they are led out 

Pike. Make them dance to their own music, boys — a fiddle with 
one string, and a bow in a strong hand. [A shout is heard without. 

Eater Miners, tumultously — one holding a prospecting pan. 

Miners. Mary Wilson ! Mary Wilson ! Huzza for the " live woman 
in the Mines!" 

John. What is it, boys "? I hope you are not going to hang my wife. 

Stokes. You be hanged, yourself. Mary Wilson has struck a lead 
rich — rich as Croesus ! Look — look ! piles of gold ! 

Mary. Mine — is it true 1 0, heavens ! 

Old Swamp. Yes, gal — No. 10 is a ten-strike — it's yours, and no 
mistake. You are rich, gal, but don't get proud. 

Mary. 0, 1 am proud — I am proud of your friendship, I am proud 
of the miners, my friends, I am proud of everything — everybody in 
the Mines. 

Pike. We're aU proud of you, and — John Wilson, I shall kiss your 
wife. [Kisses her. 

Betsey. [Good humor edly.] Jess, if you kiss that man's-wife, I'll 
kiss that woman's husband. [Th7-ows her arms about John, and kisses 
him heartily. 

__ Pike. I'm so happy, I could kiss Short^Tail himself, ef it wasn't for 
stampeding him. 

Mary. 0, John, are we not well paid for all our trials and misfor- 
tunes ■? How can I ever repay you for your many, many kindnesses "? 

[To Miners. 

Old Swamp. Pshaw ! by sewing on our buttons, nursing poor, sick, 
miners, giving kind words to all, and making us think of and love 
still better our wives and sweethearts at home, as you have done. 

Pike. And by being bridesmaid to my Carolina Betsey, commonly 
known as High Betty Martin, who is to be spliced to Pike County 
Jess, by the Judge, this blessed night [Advancing to the front of the 
stage] And ef thar's any more female women in these diggins who 
wants to strike a lead, and go in cahoot with an A No. 1 miner for a 
husband, she is welcome to Short^Tail to r'de on a prospecting tour, 
to become "A LIVE WOMAN IN THJE MINES." 



20';\85T 



m. 

132 

124. 
125. 
l-ifi. 
127. 
128. 



[ Catalogue 

VOL. XVI. 

The Tempest, 
The Pilot, 
Carpenter of Rouen, 
Kins's Uivnl, 
Little Treasure, 
Domby & Son, 
Parents and Guardians 
Jewess. 



continued from second page 

VOL. XVIL 

129. Caniille 137. 

I.W. Mi>rrled Life. 138. 

131. WenlockofW'enlock 130. 

132. Ro.se of EtlricK-vale, 140. 
1.33. David Copperfipid, J41\ 
134. Aline or ihe Rose of 142. 
13.5. Piui line. [Killarney, 143. 
13C. Jane EjTe. 144. 



of cover.] 

VOL. XV m. 

Ni^lit «nd Morninf, 
.^thiop. 

Three Guardsmen, 
Tom Cringle, 
Hpnriette,the Forsak'n 
Eustaclie r.audin, 
Ernest Maltravers, 
Bold Dragoons. 



VOL. XIX. I VOL. XX. 

U5. Dred ; or, the Dismal; 163. Frpuch Spy. 
Swamp. 1 154. Wept of Wi 

146. Last Days of Pompeii 

147. Ksraeralda. 

148. Peter Wilkins. 

149. Een, the Boatswain. 

150. Jonathan Bradford. 

161. Retribution, 

162. Mineralli. 



Wish. 

1156. Evil Genius. 
166. B n Bolt. 

1157. Sailor of France. 
[158. Red Mask. 
Ifc9. Life of an Actress. 
16J. Wedding Day. 



VOL. XXL 

101. All's Fair in Love. 
U-toK-162. Hofer. 
il63 Self. 
161 Cinderella. 
Itjft. Phantom. 
jl66. Fianklin. 
[167. The Gun Maker 'of 

MoKCon-. 
163. The Love of a Prince. 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

lllliillllilililllillll... 

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Price 12^ Cents each — Dound Volumes $1. 



VOL. I. 

1. The Irish Attorney, 
'2. Uo*)ts ut the Swtin, 

3. How to pay the Uent, 

4. The Limn of a Lover, 

5. The Dead Shot, 

6. His Liisl Legs, 

7. The Invisible Prince, 

8. The Golden Farmer. 
With a Portrait and Memoir 

of .Mr. JOHN SEl'TON. 

VOL. IV. 

25. Sewct Service, 

26. Oinoibus, 
87. Irish Lion, 

28. .Miiid of Croissey, 

29. The Old Guard, 
30 liaising the Wind, 
31. Slasher and Crasher, 
33. Naval Engagements. 
With !i Portrait and Memoir 

of Miss KOSE TELBIW. 

VOL. VIL 

49. Box and Cn.\ Married 

50. St. Cupid, [and Settled, 
5J. Go to bedToui, 

52. The Lawyers, 

53. Jacic Shcppard, 

54. The Toodles. 

55. The Mobcap, 

56. Ladies Beware. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 
of SOL SMITH. 

VOL. X. 

73. Ireland and America, 

74. Pretty Piece of Business, 

75. Irish Broom-maker, 

76. To Paris and Back for X5 

77. 'Jhat Blessed Baby, 
7S. Our Gal, 

79. Swiss Cottage, 

80. Young Widow. 

VOL. xiir: 

97. My Wife's Mirror. 

'■>». I.ireia New Yorlt, 

9:i Middy Ashcyre. 
100. Crown Prince, 
lot. Two Queens. 
102. Thumpitij{ Ijegacy. 



VOL. II. 

9. The Pride of the Market, 

10. Used Up, 

11. The Irish Tutor. 

|-.'. The Barrack lloom, 
i:l. Luke the Laborer, 
M. Beauty and the Beast, 
15. St. Patrick's Eve, 
hi. Captain of the Watch. 
With a Portrait and Memoir 
of Miss C. WEMVSS. 

VOL. V. 

33. Cocknies in California, 
.34. Who Speaks First, 
35. Bombastes Furioso, 
30. Macbeth Travestic, 
37. Irish Ambassador, 
38- Delicate Ground, 

39. The Weathercock, 

40. All that Glitters is not 

Gold. 
With a Portrait and Memoir 
of W. A. GOODALL. 



VOL. VIIL 

Morning Call, 
Popping the Question, 
Deaf as a Post, 
New Footman, 
Pleasant Neigiibor, 
Paddy the Piper, 
Bryan O'Lynn, 
Irish Assurance. 



VOL. III. 

17. The Secret, 

18. While Horsoof the Pep- 

19. The Jacobite, [pers, 

20. The Boiile. 

21. Bo.x and Co.x, 

22. Bamboozling, 

23. Widow's Victim, 

24. Itobert Macaire. 

With a Portrait and Memoir 
of Mr. F. S. CHANFKAU. 

VOL. VI. 

41. Grimshaw, Bagshaw, 

and Bradshaw, 

42. Rough Diamond, 

43. Bloomer Costume, 

44. Two Bonnycastles, 

45. Born to Good Luck, 
4C. Kiss in the Dark, 

47. 'Twould Puzzle a Con 

48. Kill or Cure. [jur<ir. 
With a Portrait and Memoir 

of F.M.KENT. 

VOL. IX. 

C3. Temptation, 
00. Paddy Carey, 
07. 'I'wo Gregories, 
f)8. King Charming, 
09. Pocahontas, 
70. Clorkmaker's Hat, 
71 Married Rake, 
72. Love and Murder, 



VOL. XL VOL. XII. 

89. A Good Fellow, 

90. (Cherry and Fair Star, 

91. Gale Breezely, 

92. Our Jcmimy, 
911 Miller's Maid, 

94. A r.kward Arrival. 

95. Crossing the Line, 

96. Conjugal Lesson. 

VOL. XV. 

1)3. One Coat for Two 

114. A Decided Case. (Suits. 

US. Daughter. [Minority. 

with iny'U6. No •; or the GIoriouM 

[Mother. 117. Coroner's Inquisition. 



^1. O'Flannigan and Fairies 

82. Irish Post, 

83. My Neighbor's Wife, 

84. Irish Tiger, 

85. P. P. or M:in and Tiger, 
80. 7'o Oblige Benson, 
87. State Secrets, 
,88. Itl^ti Yankee. 

VOL. XIV. 

1<"5. The Demon Lover. 

lOfi. Matrimony. 

il07. lu ana Out of Place 

108. I Dine 

!109. Hiawatha. 

110. Andy Blake. 



118. I/ive in Humble Life. 

103. Unfinished Gentleman, ill Love in '76. [culties. 119. Spoiled Child. 

104. House Dog. |ll2. Roimnce undw DilB 120. Pcisonation. 

Wr American Plays 12K cents eM. :?'^\i^Mal\ on receipt of Price. 
N. B.— A new Play pnbllsbed eveVy weelc. ' 

8. FRENCH, 122 Nassau Street, Now York, 
^^geo extract from Dew Fostage Law, on preceding page. 



